


one word from you

by mothicalcreatures



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Background Relationships, FRMC224, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Negotiation, hartving, rossann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothicalcreatures/pseuds/mothicalcreatures
Summary: The more he heard Fitzjames tell the China story, the more Francis hated it. It had taken several retellings to get all the necessary details, but, unfortunately, Francis knew that the day of Fitzjames’ injury would be burned into his memory for a lifetime.--In a world where a person feels their soulmate’s pain until they meet and acknowledge it, Fitzjames’ China story becomes roughly a thousand times worse for Francis.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier & Commander James Fitzjames, Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 14
Kudos: 80





	one word from you

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (belated) birthday Frank.
> 
> The title is from First Love/Late Spring by Mitski
> 
> Thank you to the amazing @blasted_heath for being my beta.

The more he heard Fitzjames tell the China story, the more Francis hated it. It had taken several retellings to get all the necessary details, but, unfortunately, Francis knew that the day of Fitzjames’ injury would be burned into his memory for a lifetime. Even half a world away, he had felt it, as if it had been his body that was being torn through. And while Fitzjames had been convalescing, Francis had spent several weeks in New Zealand in too much pain to function, from no apparent injury of his own.

Unlike Fitzjames, Francis had not had the good fortune to be so knocked out with alcohol or laudanum that he could forget the pain.

Obviously, the cause could only have been soulmate pain; but not knowing the exact injury causing it, the doctors aboard _Terror_ had been hesitant to dose him too heavily. Now Francis knew, a gunshot wound and the subsequent surgery to remove the ball. And of course that was exactly the sort of severe injury that would trigger a soulmate bond, but why Fitzjames? What did the world think Francis would see in the younger man?

Francis hated the term soulmate, though the concept, in theory, was appealing. While many soulmates did wind up romantically involved, that was hardly the case across the board. If two men were soulmates, the expectation was that they would be close friends, the same if it was two women. But even if Francis hadn’t been aware of his own inclinations for the bearded sex, he still would have been baffled by the universe pushing him towards Fitzjames.

He had hoped, for a time, that it might have been Ross, and that neither of them had sustained injury notable enough to trigger anything yet. However, they’d both sustained significant injuries on past expeditions that had led to nothing. But severity of injury also didn’t necessarily mean a soulmate trigger: some people’s soulmate pain could be triggered by scrapping a knee, and for someone else it could be _getting shot_ and doctors had no real answers as to why. There were theories of course, but Francis had never cared enough to try to sort through them. He’d never ranked among those who’d sought out ways to figure out the whos and hows of a future soulmate.

Regardless, any hopes Francis might have had about Ross and he being soulmates had been dashed when Ross had met Ann. Not that Ann wasn’t a wonderful person, but even if he and Ross had turned out to be soulmates, Ann would still likely have been the one who held Ross’s attention romantically. As it was, when they had returned from the Antarctic, Ross and Ann had been overjoyed to find they _were_ , in fact, soulmates and it had likely been triggered when James had been bitten by a penguin.

And so here they were, Francis getting more irritated by Fitzjames the more time he spent around him, but also feeling it when the man nicked himself shaving.

* * *

James woke with the pounding headache of a hangover that was not his. It wasn’t the first time this had happened recently, and James could only hope that it would stop before they set sail in a few weeks. Still it was a far cry better than the bone numbing hot and cold pain that had plagued him on and off for months after his soulmate pain had begun.

He felt horrible about his injury being the inciting event for that. He knew such things were often expected in war time, but that wasn’t the point. Whoever was out there for him had still had to feel all of that. True, the pain would have been somewhat muted, but the more severe the injury the less that really helped. That was part of the reason he’d taken to telling that story so often. It wasn’t unreasonable to think that the more he told it, the more likely it was his soulmate would hear it. It was fairly common to find your soulmate within a few months of the pain starting—a popular theory stated that the pain wouldn’t be triggered until you were close to finding your soulmate.

James hadn’t been so fortunate and it was approaching three years since the initial pain sharing had started. It wasn’t unusual for it to take extra time for a Navy man to find their soulmate, as being at sea often wasn’t the most conducive place to find your soulmate unless they happened to be another sailor, which also wasn’t unheard of. However, if anyone in the Navy were to have been his soulmate, James was sure it would have been Charlewood. However, that hadn’t come to pass, and while two men as soulmates was considered proper if platonic, men would rarely advertise it if they were regardless. James quietly hoped that if his soulmate _was_ also in the Navy and happened to piece everything together they would reach out to him privately.

James had always had, perhaps, an over romanticized ideal of soulmates, but was it really so bad to want that sort of unconditional love? There were countless novels and poems written on the topic, finding one’s soulmate was always shown to be a momentous occasion, even when it never led to romance it was still something incredibly special. Maybe that was why this all felt so crushing, why it felt like he was running out of time. If he didn’t find his soulmate before he sailed it would be at least another year before he’d be back in London. He’d had the brief thought that perhaps it was someone on the expedition, but he’d met most of the officers at the Admiralty events and a good many of them had heard his China story, some likely more than once from the frequency he’d been telling it. Still, he couldn’t give up hope just yet—absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that—and there still _was_ someone out there for him.

* * *

The first thing Francis noticed was how much worse the cold was when you got the pain of it twice. The first time he’d really felt it waswhen Fitzjames overturned himself in a bloody Inuit canoe and soaked himself in the frigid water.

He’d heard about the incident later, of course, and it had connected easily to the aches and pains he’d felt earlier. This was going to be a long voyage. Perhaps he should ask Dr. Peddie if there was more he could do than just numb the pain with whiskey.

“I know it’s not my place to tell you what to do sir,” Jopson said, one evening as he brought Francis his dinner. “But if you just made Commander Fitzjames _aware_ of the situation that would resolve the problem of the pain and then you could go back to ignoring him.”

Francis huffed. “I don’t ignore him, Jopson, he’s impossible to ignore when he’s around. I avoid him.”

“Of course, sir,” Jopson said in a tone that Francis had long ago learned meant Jopson didn’t believe him.

Though Francis did have to admit that Jopson had a point, he also wasn’t keen on the idea of Fitzjames knowing they were somehow fated. There was a good chance, Francis thought, that it might make the man even more insufferable. No, they would get through this and then Francis would never have to see Fitzjames again. He could live with the pain.

* * *

James felt utterly horrid about this whole damn situation. All things considered it was only tea and sugar, but Crozier already seemed not to like him very much, and this would do nothing to improve his standing in the man’s eyes. Sir John had said not to worry about it and that, much like _Erebus_ , there wouldn’t be any room for extra supplies on _Terror_ since they were so tightly packed. James had not bothered to point out that it _wouldn’t_ be giving extra supplies to _Terror_ because the tea already belonged there and it was, in fact, putting extra supplies on _Erebus._

What he had done instead was approach Little to ask what the best way would be to get the misappropriated supplies to the correct ship. Since the ships had already set sail, Little suggested that the crates of tea and sugar could be sent back over in small quantities as parties moved back and forth between the ships. One or two crates could be hauled on board much more easily than sending everything over at once.

When Little returned to Terror that afternoon, James sent the first crate with him and a letter to Crozier in which he expressed his apologies and his intent to return the rest of Crozier’s tea and sugar to him. He hoped that would amount to something for easing things between the two of them.

James grimaced and rolled his wrist, where it had begun to ache. He hadn’t done much by way of hard labor today, so it had to be from his soulmate. He wondered, fretfully, what their life was like to be so full of aches and pains. Perhaps, they were older than him or in poor health. James tried to imagine himself married to an older woman and found he couldn’t envision it at all, mostly because the only two women that popped into his head were his aunt and Lady Jane. He shook his head. There was nothing he could do about this now. He would just have to put up with it.

* * *

James had never thought much about what would happen if you and your soulmate were on the same ship. It was intentionally avoided by many men who found themselves in that situation to avoid being found out and potentially lashed for dirtiness or sodomy. There were captains who simply didn’t care if you argued it was platonic. But then Irving collapsed when Tom Hartnell was lashed.

He’d been pale and trembling since the first lash fell on Hartnell’s back, but James had both not been paying close attention to Irving then and dealing with a splitting headache himself. Irving’s collapse after Hartnell had been brought back to have his wounds salted by Dr. MacDonald drew all eyes to him, however. He would have fallen if not for Jopson, who was able to brace him and then help him withdraw.

Crozier turned to them looking like he might just snap at the two of them to stay, but Jopson gave him an utterly _withering_ look and Crozier shut his mouth and they returned to the matter at hand. It was an odd dynamic for a captain and steward, James thought, and he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the two of them were soulmates. Jopson was one of the few people Crozier seemed to genuinely like and not merely tolerate, but James couldn’t cite any other points and did his best to push it out of his mind. It was a dangerous matter to speculate about.

Jopson returned in the middle of Hickey’s lashing and James moved quickly to step back and speak to him so as to not interrupt Crozier. “Is everything all right with Lieutenant Irving?” 

Jopson nodded sharply. “Yes sir, he’s lying down in his bunk. I’ll fetch Dr. MacDonald to see him once this concludes.”

“Would sending him to see Mr. Hartnell not be more prudent?” James asked, lowering his voice.

Something odd flashed across Jopson’s eyes, but he simply shook his head. “It’s a complicated matter, sir. Perhaps once things are settled.”

James gave a quick nod of understanding, though he did not quite understand why one would wish to draw out such pain. If he knew who his soulmate was he’d want to see it acknowledged as soon as possible. Among everything else, it wasn’t fair to intentionally continue to cause them pain if you could help it. Still there was nothing for it, there were certainly complicating factors: a need for privacy better suited to a closed cabin, Hartnell likely not wanting to move about very much for the next few hours… As he returned his position next to Crozier, his mind drifted to the accusation of dirtiness levied at Hickey. They had not discussed that, and perhaps that too inspired Jopson’s trepidation. This could not end soon enough.

* * *

The great cabin had cleared and Francis was alone, save for Jopson. “Shall I call back Captain Fitzjames? Or will you be subjecting him to your withdrawal?”

Francis frowned. “It shouldn’t affect him so terribly… will it?”

“I can’t say I know, sir,” Jopson admitted. “But I know you can die of this sort of thing, and I do think he’d feel that.”

It had been cruel to avoid telling Fitzjames all this time, Francis was well aware of that now. He should have said something years ago, before they sailed, at Beechey, when they were first beset… but the more time passed, and the worst things got, the more reasons presented themselves for not telling Fitzjames. Besides, wasn’t it better to let Fitzjames, young and in his prime, not feel horribly embarrassed by a soulmate who was morbid and drunk?

“It can wait a while longer,” Francis said, rising from the table to retreat to his bed and let this whole uncomfortable ordeal begin. “Should things get truly dire, you may get him.”

Francis hissed in pain as Jopson moved the comb through his hair.

Jopson, to his credit, stopped immediately. “What’s wrong, sir?”

“My scalp… feels horribly tender,” he choked out, and he felt Jopson shift and the comb was replaced with gentle fingers.

“It looks all right, sir,” Jopson said after a moment. “No blood. It may just be your body deciding to ache.”

“Or it could be Fitzjames,” Francis muttered. In his more lucid moments, he did worry how Fitzjames was faring. The situation he’d forced the man into was not an easy one.

Jopson sighed heavily above him, but made no comment, which Francis was incredibly grateful for. He knew exactly what Jopson wanted to say.

After helping Francis wash up briefly Jopson got to his feet. “I’ll go get your supper, sir. Try to get some rest while I’m gone.” He paused, then added. “I’ll talk to Lieutenant Little to see if Captain Fitzjames has perhaps appeared at all unwell.”

* * *

James was making his way below decks, when a sharp burning pain shot through his chest and throat and he lost his footing, falling the rest of the way down the ladder. Thankfully, Le Vesconte had gotten to the bottom just before him and caught him before he was able to hurt himself.

“Christ, are you alright Jas?”Le Vesconte asked, letting go as James steadied himself.

“Yes,” James said, or rather croaked, as his throat still felt miserable.

Le Vesconte didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t say anything and they continued further into the ship, headed for the wardroom.

“Are you really alright?” he asked once the door was shut behind them.

James nodded and opened his mouth to say yes, but then the burning pain was back and he had to brace himself on the table.

“It’s your soulmate, isn’t it?”

James nodded tightly, and dropped into a chair. “I feel horrible.”

Le Vesconte worried his hands on the back of a chair before sitting down himself. “They’re ill again?”

“Yes, it’s… it’s been getting steadily worse. These last few bouts were bearable…” he grimaced. “At least until the acrid burn of vomiting.”There was a painful weight in his chest now that _wasn’t_ from his soulmate. “I’ve started to think they’ll die before we can get ourselves out of this mess. I can only hope my aches and pains aren’t causing them too much distress.”

“You know Jas…” Le Vesconte trailed off. “I’ve had a thought that I don’t think you’re going to like very much. I remember those sharp prickly pains in your hands and feet that you’d get… and you said it was like going from too cold to being too hot…”

James frowned. He did remember that, but he failed to follow Dundy’s line of thinking.

“Well, that’s exactly how it feels coming into the ships from outside, isn’t it?” Le Vesconte continued, looking very much like he thought James might bite his head off. “Captain Crozier was in the Antarctic then and he is currently vomiting his guts up aboard _Terror._ ”

It took several moments for James to process the sheer enormity of what Dundy had suggested. He had assumed illness had been to blame for his near constant headaches, but well… a hangover would cause that too now wouldn’t it? His first thought was anger, particularly if one assumed Crozier knew (And how could he not? He’d heard the story of James’ injury that had started it all, and would have felt it too), then he’d been utterly selfish in keeping it to himself. But that faded surprisingly quickly, after all, what would James have done if he’d been in a similar position? If their positions had been reversed… James certainly would not have approached a senior officer with anything like that. Crozier’s opinion of him had never been particularly high, and he’d likely hoped the whole matter could be ignored. Was he even aware of the effects his drinking had had on James? Likely not.

Of course all that was dependent on Dundy’s speculation being _true._ James sighed. “Now _you’ve_ given me a headache.”

“I don’t say it to be ornery,” Le Vesconte said placatingly.

“I know Dundy, and there may be truth to what you suggest.” He sighed again. “Looking back there are… there are certainly things that could indicate that. However, if I’m being perfectly honest, I’d assumed he and Jopson were attached thusly.”

Le Vesconte choked on a laugh. “Jopson?”

“Yes, he’s always seemed rather more forward with Crozier than Iwould expect a captain’s steward to be,” James said, thinking back tothat moment during the lashing where Jopson had seemed perfectly ready to argue with his captain. “And Crozier did request him specifically for the expedition.”

“He went to the Antarctic with Captain Crozier, didn’t he?” Le Vesconte asked.

James nodded, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. “I believe so yes.”

“Given the circumstances, he might be the man to ask about this.”

* * *

Thomas had not needed to wait for the captain’s permission to send for Captain Fitzjames, because after a particularly horrid night of hallucinations that had ended in Crozier having a fit, Dr. MacDonald had _suggested_ to acting Commander Little that he should perhaps convene with Captain Fitzjames to prepare for the worst—just in case of course. The underlying implication was that if the captain did not improve soon, he would not improve at all.

The meeting took place in the wardroom and though Thomas was invited to join them at the table, he chose instead to stand closest to the door that would lead to the great room in case he was needed. As things concluded Thomas began thinking of an excuse to get Captain Fitzjames alone. It proved unnecessary, however, as Fitzjames approached him instead.

“I was wondering if we might speak privately,” Fitzjames said. “I’m sure you’re quite busy, but if you have a moment.”

Thomas nodded. “Certainly, sir.” He stepped aside so that Fitzjames could enter the room.

“Is there anything I can get you, sir?” Thomas asked, mostly out of habit.

“No, no…” Fitzjames seemed rather agitated, choosing to pace the room instead of sitting down. “I have… a rather personal question to putto you about Captain Crozier, if you’ll indulge me. I’ll certainly understand if you won’t.”

The reason for Fitzjames’s agitation was now perfectly clear. He’d made some sort of connection about Crozier perhaps being his soulmate. There was no good way to reveal that Thomas already knew about the situation, and he could also be wrong, but he didn’t think he was. “That will depend on the question, sir.”

Fitzjames sighed and finally dropped into a chair, staring pointedly at the table. “Lieutenant Le Vesconte put it to me the other day that there were certain… overlaps in pain I’ve had and… _events_ in Crozier’s life.”

“You would be correct in thinking that, sir,” Thomas said gently and Fitzjames eyes shot up to stare at him.

“We were in the Antarctic regions when things began,” Thomas continued. “I can’t imagine that was comfortable for you.”

Fitzjames sighed heavily. “Hardly as uncomfortable as it was for him I would imagine.”

“No,” Thomas agreed. “However, we were, thankfully, not at sea at the time it occurred, so things were not as bad as they could have been.”

Fitzjames squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his fist against the table. Then he let out a long sigh. “I want to be furious with him, but our situation has also been quite complicated. There’s danger in acknowledging this, particularly if it’s not between people who know each other well… though I imagine you’re well aware of that.”

“Would you like me to see if he’s awake, sir?” Thomas asked. “So you might talk?”

“Would he be… amenable to that?” Fitzjames asked. He looked possibly the most unsure Jopson had ever seen him. Even after Sir John had died, Commander Fitzjames had never looked so _doubting_.

“He’s had his own reasons for not bringing this up to you,” Jopson began. “But your situation has never been something that factored into his… his… behavior toward you. ”

Fitzjames huffed a laugh. “Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”

“Perhaps that is over simplifying things,” Jopson admitted. It was a delicate and complex situation, and one that was wholly outside the realm of Jopson’s typical duties, but that was hardly anything new these days. “What I meant was, that your both being men is not one of the reason’s he has avoided bringing this to your attention.”

Fitzjames worried his lip. “What about during Mr. Hickey’s flogging? Am I supposed to believe that dirtiness charge was something else?”

“Yes, though I don’t see why the captain shouldn’t have told you about it,” Jopson said. He shook his head. “Mr. Hickey shat in Mr. Gibson’s bunk. While I do presume it to have been brought on by a lovers spat, I would certainly call the act alone dirtiness, wouldn’t you sir?”

Fitzjames slumped back in his chair and ran a hand over his face. “Yes, yes, I would. Thank you, Mr. Jopson, but to your original point I think this may be a conversation best had when Captain Crozier is well again.”

There must have been something telling on Thomas’s face, because Fitzjames paused when he met Thomas’s gaze.

“Tomorrow, if he has a lucid moment, send for me,” Fitzjames said at last. “I do not wish to be a detriment to his recovery by causing him undue stress.” He smiled, grimly. “But that is a double edged sword, isn’t it? I cause him distress if I do and pain if I don’t.”

There was truth to what he said, Thomas thought, but he also thought that at least acknowledging it would be the less painful of the two. Still, he was in no position to contradict Captain Fitzjames. “I will, sir.”

Fitzjames nodded, getting to his feet. “Good, and I will do my part tokeep myself out of harm’s way until then.”

* * *

Fitzjames’ Carnevale should have been a success. It was a touch more macabre than many of the Arctic celebrations Francis had seen in his life, but it served its purpose. The men were invigorated, festive, enjoying themselves in ways they hadn’t done in some time, or, they had been, until everything came crashing down around them in a blaze.

The catastrophe was no fault of Fitzjames’, but he would shoulder the guilt for it all the same, Francis knew. Eventually, after much coaxing from himself and Goodsir, Francis was able to get Fitzjames to his feet. “We’ve done all we can for now,” he said. “Your presence will be needed on _Erebus_.”

“Yes…” James croaked. “Dundy- Le Vesconte will need the help…”

Francis shook his head. “You need rest. I sent Hodgson to _Erebus_. I’m sure he and Le Vesconte can handle things while you take a moment to rest.”

He should have sent Hodgson to _Erebus_ immediately after Sir John died, but he hadn’t and he had never regretted it more than he did now.

Fitzjames exhaled shakily, though he seemed to come back to himself a bit. “A moment… yes, thank you.”

Fitzjames looked to Francis as if he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t and looked away again, glancing back over the wreckage of Carnevale.

“Once things have settled, come see me on _Terror_ ,” Francis said, drawing Fitzjames’ attention back to him. “I believe we have things that need discussed.”

Fitzjames let out a long sigh. “Yes, yes we do.”

It was late the following evening when Fitzjames arrived on Terror. He looked exhausted as Jopson let him into the great cabin, where Francis was sitting going over the list of provisions Irving had just left with him.

“Have a seat before you keel over,” Francis said, hoping his voice sounded kind. “Jopson, if you would bring tea.”

Jopson nodded with a quiet, “Yes, sir,” before slipping from the room.

Fitzjames dropped heavily into the chair directly across from Francis.His face was torn and full of worry, so Francis quickly moved to break the silence.

“Jopson told me, in brief, what the two of you discussed while I was ill. That you figured out that we are soulmates.”

The effect on both men was immediate as aches and pains lessoned to just what was their own. Fitzjames sagged in his seat and Francis took stock of what parts of him were no longer aching; his bicep, left side of his chest, upper back, scalp… Things that spoke to Fitzjames' increasing poor health, spoke of old wounds acting up again.

“Lieutenant Le Vesconte made the guess,” Fitzjames said after several moments. “I merely asked about it.”

Francis nodded. “I should have told you a long time go, but I let my pride and bitterness get in the way.”

“You had your reasons,” James said with a sigh. “In your position I wouldn’t have said anything either.”

“Still, I could have done far better by you,” Francis said. “Given you the benefit of the doubt for one. I’m surprised you’re not more angry with me.”

“I am angry,” Fitzjames said, but there was no trace ofit in his voice. “However, I’ve had time to sit with it, and I find I’m more hurt and disappointed than anything.”

That stung worse than if Fitzjames had said he was angry. A disappointment. Even sober, he couldn’t escape that, it seemed. “You have every right to feel that way,” Francis said. “I’ve been terribly unfair to you. I let bitterness and drink cloud my judgement, and I left you feeling my pain unnecessarily for three years.”

“I could feel your hangovers you know,” Fitzjames said. “I thought that my soulmate was ill constantly. Turns out you were just drunk constantly.”

Francis grimaced. “Christ, I’m sorry, James.”

Fitzjames stared at him oddly for a moment, and Francis realized he’d called him “James” instead of his usual “Fitzjames.”

“You know, I felt horribly guilty that my injury in China was the trigger for this,” Fitzjames said slowly, still watching Francis.

“There’s no need for that,” Francis replied with a shake of his head. “Was it misery? Yes, but that’s just how this works, isn’t it? Pain for pain. I’ve certainly given you enough to last a lifetime, much of it perfectly avoidable but for my stubbornness.”

Fitzjames nodded, eyes dropping to the table where he was absentmindedly running his fingers along the wood.

“James Ross, lucky bastard, got off with a penguin bite triggering his, and his Lady Ann didn’t get up to half of what you did.” He’d meant it as gentle teasing and he hoped it came across that way, but Fitzjames frowned and he grimaced internally.

“He’d met his wife _before_ his pain triggered then?” Fitzjames asked.

“Yes.” The tension in Francis’s chest eased somewhat. The teasing was perhaps not what had James frowning after all.

“I’d been of the school of thought that the pain always triggered before you met your soulmate,” Fitzjames mused. “I suppose I had many ill conceived notions about soulmates.”

“For what it’s worth,” Francis said. “It’s my understanding that the pain not triggering until after you’ve met your soulmate is uncommon. James, er… Ross had been quite worried in his courting of Ann because of that very thing. He thought surely the injuries he’d incurred while North with his uncle would have triggered the pain for them.”

Francis paused a moment and leaned back in his chair. “I think we want soulmates to make a good deal more sense than they do.”

“I’d known that my hopes for a soulmate were rather fanciful, but…” James shook his head. “Marry a fine young lady of good standing and what not… I’d never really put much energy behind those thoughts. Some things are better left as fantasy where nothing can go wrong.”

Now it was Francis’s turn to frown. “You could still marry. I’m sure any young lady would be glad to have you.” He didn’t want Fitzjames to feel beholden to him and only him simply because they were soulmates. Soulmates meant destined for each other in some way, that was all.

Francis’ newfound sobriety meant that he might be able to forge a genuine friendship with Fitzjames. He had not even begun to consider what a romantic entanglement with the other man might look like.

However, Fitzjames merely shook his head. “She would have to be a very tolerant young lady, with parents who didn’t care about their son-in-law’s family pedigree.”

Francis had no idea what to say to that. He knew very little of Fitzjames’ background, but he certainly looked and acted the part of a proper English gentleman, and had the backing of the Sir John Barrow to boot.

“Well, your family background matters very little to me,” Francis said at length.

Fitzjames sighed. “If only it mattered so little to everyone else.”

Francis did not want to pry—he hardly knew Fitzjames well enough for that—but Fitzjames also seemed quite dejected because of this and Francis could hardly understand why.

“I won’t ask you to explain yourself… all things considered you certainly don’t owe me an explanation,” Francis began. “But you must forgive me for my confusion. I had assumed your background much the same as any young English officer.”

Fitzjames was now looking very unsettled and had begun fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket.

Thankfully, they were spared a lengthy uncomfortable silence by Jopson arriving with tea. Having a cup of tea seemed to do much to settle Fitzjames’ nerves as he seemed a good deal calmer by the time he had drained his first cup and poured himself another.

“I was raised by a good English family…” Fitzjames began. “Of no relation to my own, though I called them aunt and uncle. My father… was English, a diplomat in Brazil, my mother was not.”

Fitzjames drained his cup and set it down on the table and Francis used the moment to reach across the table to take Fitzjames’s hand. He startled, but didn’t pull away.

“That is no small weight to carry,” Francis said, and it was a relief to see Fitzjames relax somewhat in his seat.

He squeezed Francis’s hand, but it was several moments before he spoke. “Thank you.”

Francis simply nodded.

“You know…” Fitzjames began. “I was so excited to finally get to work with you. I’d wanted desperately to go to the Antarctic with you and Sir James, so getting to sail with you the Arctic seemed like a dream come true.”

He paused to take a slow breath and Francis shifted his grip on Fitzjames’s hand so he could rub his thumb gently over Fitzjames’s knuckles.

“You would have been on _Terror_ , if you’d gone with us then.” It was something he’d been vividly reminded of when he’d first made the connection that this James Fitzjames was the same man that Ross had so desperately wanted for the expedition. At the time, Francis had felt rather like he’d dodged a bullet, but now he had to wonder if they wouldn’t have gotten to this sooner if Fitzjames had been able to come with them.

Fitzjames blinked. “Really?”

Francis nodded and Fitzjames shook his head in quiet disbelief. “How different things could have been.”

“Indeed,” Francis said. “But we are here now, and I know I’ve said it before, but I am sorry.”

“And I accept your apology,” Fitzjames said. “I… I would very much like to start again.”

Francis smiled softly. “I would like that as well.”

**Author's Note:**

> So when I started writing this, many moons ago, I did not know about Frank's extended illness during the Antarctic expedition. Turns out, his illness lines up near perfectly with Fitzjames getting shot in China. That's what we like to call a fun coincidence.


End file.
